


Mugshot

by Serenitala



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Reflection, gratuitous use of coffee mugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 21:19:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serenitala/pseuds/Serenitala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Charming," Coulson replies drily, "and to think people wonder why I put up with you."<br/>Clint just smiles because he knows exactly why Coulson puts up with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mugshot

 

" _Ok, we're done. Stay put for a few minutes and then we can pack up and head home_."

"Thank fuck for that," Clint responds to Coulson's words in his ear. "I've had about as much spicy food as my ass can handle. This past few days it's been like shitting through the eye of a needle." He cracks his neck and waits.

" _Charming,_ " Coulson replies drily, " _and to think people wonder why I put up with you_."

Clint just smiles because he knows exactly why Coulson puts up with him. Coulson puts up with him because he knows that Clint's the best at what he does and that he always gets the job done. He puts up with him because Coulson understands the difference between the need to communicate and understand orders and stubborn insubordination. He puts up with him because as a team they are, quite frankly, the best. 

But most of all, Coulson puts up with him because he likes him. Clint knows this. He can see it in the little smiles he spots through his scope when they chat on the comms. He can read it in the way Coulson keeps the chipped Rocky & Bullwinkle mug that Clint liberated from the cafeteria next to the coffee pot in his office. He can feel it in the way Coulson sometimes loosens his tie and puts his feet on the desk when Clint is in his office, eating noodles from the carton and bitching about the lady at the dry cleaners who scolds him for the state his suits sometimes turn up in.

" _Time to come in to roost, Hawkeye_."

"Roger that, boss."

* * *

 

Two days later, when they're back on US soil and Clint has taken the world's longest shower and eaten some very bland food, he pads down SHIELD's corridors in his sweats and opens the door to Coulson's office. Coulson glances up briefly but doesn't say anything when Clint lets himself in and heads over to the coffee pot, just carries on typing into his computer and checking things on his tablet.

Clint pauses when he reaches the coffee pot. His stained, chipped mug is nowhere to be seen. He frowns until his eyes land on the pristine white one sitting in its place. It would be unremarkable except for the handle: an arrow, curved to join the mug at the rim and base. Slowly, he picks it up and turns it over in his hands. On the base, where only someone opposite while you are drinking from it would see, is a bullseye. Warmth blooms in Clint's stomach and he pauses for a few moments just staring at the mug and clutching it in his hands. Eventually, when he starts to feel a bit foolish, he fills both it and Coulson's kitten mug - a gift from Fury apparently - with coffee. When he turns around, Coulson has already laid out the Oatmeal and Raisin cookies (Clint's favorite) that he keeps in his drawer.

"Thanks," Clint murmurs, lifting his mug as he sits down. 

Coulson smiles apologetically. "I'm afraid Rocky and Bullwinkle met a sorry end due to an overzealous junior with too many files."

"No, no, this is great. This is... Where did you even get this?"

Coulson's grin is wide, "Ah well, I have my sources," he says, his eyes twinkling, before tipping his head to the side. "How's the ass?"

"Rounded, firm to the touch and utterly delectable," Clint replies, stretching lightly as Coulson rolls his eyes and huffs in pretend frustration. Clint sighs at the warmth and familiarity of the situation, the post-mission tension slowly dissipating from his muscles.

They sit in companionable silence for a little while, sipping coffee and crunching on cookies, Coulson continuing to type whatever it is that Coulson's always typing while Clint just allows the moment to wash over him and ground him, relaxed and comfortable. As he watches Coulson's fingers fly across the keyboard, he is seized by the urge to say something - anything - about how much he appreciates Coulson, how glad he is that Coulson puts up with him and is his handler and his friend. His brain is trying desperately to shape the words before it allows his foolish mouth to utter them when Coulson's communicator goes off.

"Yes, sir, right away." He says after tapping it and, rolling his eyes, he reaches down for one of the paper coffee cups he started storing in his desk after leaving too many cups half drunk.

He smiles wearily at Clint.

"Lock up when you leave."

The warmth in Clint's stomach expands throughout his body at the reminder that Coulson gave him his own code to the office. That it is permission and more - an invitation - to be here without him. The trust of the gesture does something to Clint that he can't even explain to himself and he finds himself rising out of his chair before his brain can even process it.

"Boss, wait." Coulson is at the door but turns when Clint speaks and if he is surprised to have his personal space invaded he shows no sign of it. Clint, a little dizzy with his own courage, leans in and presses their lips together, a gentle brush that Coulson immediately responds to. He kisses back without even a momentary pause, as though this is something they do every day, not just something that they  _should_  be doing every day. It's soft and slow and sweet and when Clint pulls away, Coulson is smiling, the little smile he sometimes wears when he catches Clint doing something silly or selfless or funny. Clint's heart flips in his chest. He wants to capture this moment forever, freezeframe the way Coulson's smile seems to shine, the way his eyes gaze so intently, the way his tongue darts out for a split second as though chasing the taste of Clint.

"You better go save the world, boss," he says, barely able to control the glee that wants to spill into his voice.

Coulson lets out a long suffering sigh and gently squeezes Clint's elbow, the warmth of his hand seeping through fabric to the skin beneath. He slips out of the door with a lingering backwards glance as Clint sits himself back down on the chair, grinning so widely it hurts slightly, and reaches for another cookie.


End file.
